


Continuation

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom Arthur, Bottom Leon, Grief, Guilt, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-08-23 14:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16620959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Leon’s rotting pieces wrap around his heart like a vine. Sometimes he binds the boy, shoved down his throat until tears gather in eyes the wrong shade of blue, blue like lilies in grey light. He is pretty, with his lips plump and slick and the heat in his gaze. He does not bite, not even when Leon coaxes the breath from his lungs with thick fingers, and Leon wonders what this game between them is.





	Continuation

This was never his plan and he remains unsure how exactly it happened. He suspects the boy had designs, and he suspects the boy understood how lonely he was. The boy was all he had left of his lovers, of the mother and father who left him too soon. All he had left of the husband and wife he’d wed in secret, whose bed he’d warmed for over two decades. Perhaps it was only natural the son should join him, should be the soft flesh on harsh nights.

The first time he indulges, he can feel the dark his king had once spoken of crack open in him. The boy has experience, knows how to roll his hips, how to clench his thighs. Whether a servant or a Knight has taught him does not seem to matter. The dark in Leon burst in inky curls staining the secret places in him. He is not gentle, or kind, to this soiled boy. He takes, rough and demanding and his tears are for the parents who thought their devil son a saint, and not the moans as throaty as his father’s or as mewling as his mother’s.

The boy seems to prefer it this way, always riling Leon up with accusations about his place in the former monarchs’ marriage bed. “Was it fun? Warming their sheets? Did you enjoy being a warm body for them to feast on? Or did you merely watch, perverted pleasure taker, as they joined together?”

Leon’s rotting pieces wrap around his heart like a vine. Sometimes he binds the boy, shoved down his throat until tears gather in eyes the wrong shade of blue,  _ blue like lilies in grey light. _ He is pretty, with his lips plump and slick and the heat in his gaze. He does not bite, not even when Leon coaxes the breath from his lungs with thick fingers, and Leon wonders what this game between them is.

The boys corners him often in the council rooms, wearing a crown to golden for his curls. He shoved steady hands into the front of Leon’s trousers, and then sinks to his knees on a stone floor. “Your father knew kings bow for no one.”

The boy is haughty as he ask, “not even queens and consorts?”

The boys walk is stiff the next few days, and Leon can’t find it in him to be sorry. Not when the boy’s pout teases with a smirk in the corners and his fingers find reason to trail over Leon’s skin. Not when the boy corners him as soon as his walk is jaunty once more. Leon lets the boy take, and he can tell the boy is unused to the dominant role, but he learns quickly. His thrust are smoother than his father’s, his hips faster than his mothers.

Leon hates himself for enjoying the boy. Hates every minutes of his skin, mostly unscared yet too far from smooth, hates the blond hair that doesn’t curl around his shoulders, hates a nose broken by rough housing.

Hates the confidence with which the boy takes; like he knows he was made for it, that Leon is his birthright. Like he knows that Leon was the first to hold him- not his mother who never kissed his skin nor his father who held him only once.

Leon loved the queen and loved the king and he loved the prince. But this lknew king, he remains uncertain about. He only knows that he will grace the boys bed until the boy tires of him.

“I will never tire of you.”

“Until you wed then. You are far more noble than your father, far less inclined to sharing than your mother.”

He lets the boy grip his chin between bruising fingers, lets their tongues battle for a dominance neither will ever gain, sword-sharp tongues and brittle teeth clashing. He loves the sunshine taste, the salty air, the bitterness of the boy.

“I will appoint an heir, if it means I can command you to stay by my side forever.”

Leon will do as commanded. He whispers it down the boys throat and ghost it along his back. “Command me then, never to leave your side, your bed. Command me to always be yours. Do as they did not, and forbid me ever to be separate from you.”

The boy does, with silk ropes and leather straps and lines down Leon’s back.

  
  



End file.
